


Liquor is Quicker

by amanda_jolene



Category: My Mad Fat Diary
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-09 20:40:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1997085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amanda_jolene/pseuds/amanda_jolene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>More drunken escapades with Finn and the gang.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Liquor is Quicker

He knows he’s had too much to drink when the liquor doesn’t burn anymore.

That should be his stopping point but Archie (who is shaking and laughing, too pissed himself) pours him and Chop another one and mentions something about the glory of brotherhood and Chops says “Cheers!” before slumping over on the couch in a clear knocked out sort of way. Archie and Finn talk about doing something to him, maybe draw on his face or drag him outside but neither of them make a move because Archie’s legs went numb about 10 minutes ago and Finn has been staving off a roll of nausea since the last shot.

“I think I’m out.” Finn tells Archie when he picks up the bottle. “Probably should have stopped when the girls did.” 

“S’pose,” Archie yawns and then he’s drawing the bottle in close to his chest and he’s lost in his own pass out, leaving Finn to consider the possibility of drawing on his face but then he remembers his girl is upstairs and he should probably head that way, too. 

He’s wobbling and laughing as he tries to make his way up the stairs. One step up and then he’s stumbling backwards. Hands and knees it is then and he’s almost to the top when he hears Archie call out, “Watch the stairs, mate. They move.” and he laughs so hard he slides down four steps, banging his knees painfully in the process. 

“Finn!” Rae hisses at him from his bedroom door. “You’re going to wake everyone up!” 

He wants to be cross with her because this is his house and it was supposed to be just the two of them tonight, but she’s wearing the sweater they’ve been passing back and forth for the last 6 months and all he can do is sigh and lay his head on the stairs and look up at her, his eyes nearly closing with the effortlessness of his smile. “That sweater will be the death of me.” 

“Fair trade since you’ll be the death of me.” She offers him her hands and he takes them and together they manage to get him up the stairs (he cracks his knee against the banisters and groans and she has to catch him fast around the waist because he starts laughing again). “Come on now.”

He’s a bit of a sloppy kiss when he’s had too much drink and he’s a little handsy (he knows this because she tells him and he has to deal with both a hangover and the embarrassment that he can’t control himself) but he’s lost his pride a while back so it doesn’t matter when she playfully protests his tongue lolling on her neck, his hands creeping under the sweater. “When’s it my turn?” 

“Your turn?” She’s got him by the hips, maneuvering him towards the bed. “With the sweater? I just took it out of your dresser.” 

“Nah, my turn to be all over you.” 

“You think you’re cute.” 

“I’m adorable.” 

A well placed hand on his chest has him off balance but he was prepared for this and braces the back of his knees, grabbing the sweater to keep himself upright. “I don’t want to sleep,” he whines. “I’m not sleepy.”

“Just annoying, right?” She leans into him, her hip pressing into his crotch as she tries to push him down and he means to say something dirty but it gets garbled in the alcohol on his breath. He laughs at his own noise and that sends him flailing back on the bed with a thump. 

He fights her a little when she’s trying to take off his shoes and socks because he’s serious when he says he doesn’t want to go to sleep but then she’s tugging at his shirt and he figures this is ok and he’s eager in helping her. But all that happens is his elbows get stuck and he winds up with his shirt over his face and he doesn’t mean to panic but fuck if he can breathe.

“Finn, stop.” He hears her tell him and he’s not sure why she’s laughing when he’s suffocating. It’s a thought, though, that she might be trying to kill him (he did slap her on the arse earlier in front of Chop and she had given him a glare) so he struggles away from her so called helping hands and starts inching his way towards what he hopes is the bottom of the bed. “Finn!” 

“Don’t kill me,” he slurs when he feels her hands on his back (probably moving to his neck to finish the job since his tee was taking too long). “I didn’t mean to do that in front of Chop but you were a wigglin’ by and I’m just a boy!” 

She gets a proper hold on him and shucks the t-shirt off his head, catching his ear quite painfully and he groans about it for the next two minutes (“Could have ripped my earring out, Rae.”) and he doesn’t notice she’s got him stripped to his undies until she’s forcing the duvet over him. He slings his arms out. “No, no. I told you I’m not about to sleep.” 

They both know it’s a lie. He’ll fight it for a bit and then the drink in him will settle deep in his system and he’ll be out like a light before she’s even snuggled in beside him. “S’posed to be just us,” he mutters unhappily, eyelashes fluttering shut.

“It wasn’t so bad tonight, though.”

“Wasn’t so good either.” 

“You sound like a child.” 

“You sound like a… a… mum.” 

“Nice one, Finnley.” 

She pets his hair a bit (he’s embarrassed over the fact that he likes it so much but he’ll be damned if he stops her) and he pulls himself closer to her, head resting on one of her boobs and she says something that sounds a lot like perv but he’s too far gone to care.

“Rae?” 

“Yeah?” 

“If you could draw anything on Chop’s face, what would you draw?” 

“I dunno. I haven’t really thought about it. What would you draw?” 

“Little hearts and I love Izzy. It’s already written all over his face, anyway. Fuckin’ sap, I tell you.”

“And what would you call yourself?”

He thinks about it for a minute. “Hopeless, I guess. Tattoo your name on my chest sort of deal.” 

“Don’t you dare.”

“Just a thought.”

“Well, let’s go draw on Chop then.” 

He nods and thinks he’s moving, but his just manages to scoot down, his face pressing it her side and he, too, takes his drunken leave. 

(In the morning when they all wake up, someone has drawn hearts all over Chop’s face and Finn discovers his own graffiti on his chest, a tiny R encased in a heart.)


End file.
